Something to do with the dead

# of chemicals in marijuana joint

The campfire blazed and, like the campers, it was far from distinguished. Sure, they were tired. Sure, all had had way too much to drink, but most had slept well until early evening and were still recovering from last night's festivities. Yep, the five were partiers. Just listen to them tell a story. It usually starts out, â€œRemember...blank blank blank, we were all so wasted.â€

Chris, the self-proclaimed leader of the group was hard at work using the minimal lighting to roll a doobie, while Gordy and Teddy talked nonchalantly about TV characters as if they were real people.

â€œWho do you think got more ass, Sam Malone on cheers, or Captain Kirk on Star Trek?â€ Gordy asked, as if this was a legitimate debate.

Teddy weighed his options carefully putting his hands out checking to see which one of the beers he was double fisting was emptier. â€œI think--I'd have to go with Sam Malone on that one,â€ he said. â€œI saw this one episode, where he went on something like thirty-seven dates, and I think he scored on all of them.â€

Not that he cared. Soon the joint would be history. None of them cared, that was kind of their motto, â€œI don't give a fuck.â€ They would say it often and always, making sure they accented the middle of fuck, drawing out the vowel, like Smoke Dog from that movie. They didn't care; they wanted you to know that with extreme animosity, yet soon they would soon be all laughing merrily like Santa Claus the night before Christmas.

â€œNo way--â€ Teddy was saying, â€œSociety's fucked up on the regular--rappers are like our superheroes--they have money, power, kids worship them, they have cool aliases--it's like an X-rated X-men set to music.â€

The group agreed, except Gordy who always had to be different.

â€œAll powerful men have had pseudonyms. Most normal people lead dual identities. Superheroes are just a metaphor. It's a historical fact, Hitler would send certain letters signing only Wolf,â€ Gordy said smugly.

â€œRappers are more like Assassins; in that they exist only in the negative,â€ Gordy stated.

The girls gave him weird looks.

â€œThey also both have three names,â€ he concluded.

â€œAll assassins have three name names: John Wilkes Booth, Lee Harvey Oswald, Mark David Chapman, and all rappers three names, they have their real name, their rap name, and their alter-ego.â€

Chris looked away in disgust; he never appreciated Gordy's thinking.

The time was nearing four and all of them wanted to be up fairly early so as not to waste another day sleeping. Chris looked like a wide-eyed scientist carefully examining his new discovery. It was in fact not the first one he had rolled tonight.

Chris threw an elbow into Teddy's wrist. â€œNot so fast, you just can't smoke it right away.â€

â€œWhat else am I going to do with itâ€ Teddy said laughing, â€œuse it to stir my beer?â€ Then he stopped, because he realized that he was laughing alone.

â€œNaw, man you got to give it time to dry,â€ Chris said in his most stoned-out voice trying to be like his older brother.

â€œYeah,â€ Stephanie seconded taking a seat next to Chris. She was clearly already wasted, but none of the boys there were going to argue about her doing more drugs. Teddy looked back over to Gordy for support but was given a look like, â€œYou're on your own, man.â€ Chris was the oldest around the fire, and due to his older brother's meticulous teachings had also had far more experience in the field than anyone else there.

â€œBesides,â€ Chris added, â€œit's not even 4:20 yet.â€

Teddy looked at his digital sports watch, which glowed fluorescent blue if you touched the two buttons on the side together. The time read 3:55.

Ann spoke up. â€œSo, what does that mean anyway?â€

â€œWhat do you mean, what does it mean?â€ Chris snorted. â€œIt's only like the international smoking time for potheads,â€ as he high-fived Teddy who, up till now, had been his campfire enemy.

â€œYea, but where does it come from?â€ she inquired innocently.

There was that moment of deafening silence that is except for the crackling of burning wood.

4:20. Where does it come from? Origin unknown?

Stephanie was the first to speak â€œI think it has something to do with police codes,â€ she said timidly. â€œLike, you know, 1-8-7 on an undercover cop, means like kill him. I think. Like 4-2-0 means, like smoke up.â€ Although it sounded ridiculous it put the fellow smokers at ease. â€œYeahâ€ everyone agreed it was obviously the police code for people or person in the progress of getting high. Call for backup.

Chris began to run his lighter along the edges of the joint drying it and making it crisper to smoke.

Teddy interrupted again, â€œI think I heard it was actually the # of chemicals that are in a joint.â€

â€œReally,â€ Stephanie said reacting disgusted.

â€œNo, not really,â€ Chris said on the defensive again, wanting both girls to smoke, â€œI think it has something to do with this group that use to hang out with â€œThe Deadâ€ at college, or something like that. After classes every day they would meet at 4:20 by some statue, then go smoke up. So that just became the code around nonsmokers that they were going to get high after school.â€ No one seemed to buy that one, and Chris began to get mad because, if it was one thing he knew about more than these other fucking vanilla babies it was dope.

Stephanie added in a ditsy way, â€œI think it was either Cheech or Chong's locker combination.â€

The group shared a laugh.

Gordy, who had been silent up till now, laughed even harder almost shooting beer out his nose. â€œThose are all moderately cool theories,â€ Gordy said smiling widely showing a cocky superiority to everyone else.

You should hear my story."

Warning: Philosophical Content-Explicit Ideas-May offend those easily offended. The legend of the Hassan El Sabbah is not as famous as his garden. Sabbah was an entrepreneur of sorts using the assassin as a tool to gain political influence throughout the Middle East. He would use young men by making them smoke hash then allowing them to enter his garden of earthly delights. The young men were told they had entered paradise and would be expelled if they did not carry out Sabbah's wishes, which were usually to kill someone of relative importance. This tale is not only a fictional look at Sabbah, but also a mind-altering look into America's drug culture and the idea of paradise. Told by a stoner, set over a thousand years ago with an Arabian Nights feel to it, the story centers around Emir Abdullah-Harazins (Sabbah) and his infamous garden. It is the story of only one of his Hashishiyyins (Assassins).

I heard that it was police codes. The code for someone with marijuana or high on it or something is 420. I have no idea if this is right but I think it might be. Or that most ppl and kids are off work and school by then.

Old School

The campfire blazed and, like the campers, it was far from distinguished. Sure, they were tired. Sure, all had had way too much to drink, but most had slept well until early evening and were still recovering from last night's festivities. Yep, the five were partiers. Just listen to them tell a story. It usually starts out, â€œRemember...blank blank blank, we were all so wasted.â€

Chris, the self-proclaimed leader of the group was hard at work using the minimal lighting to roll a doobie, while Gordy and Teddy talked nonchalantly about TV characters as if they were real people.

â€œWho do you think got more ass, Sam Malone on cheers, or Captain Kirk on Star Trek?â€ Gordy asked, as if this was a legitimate debate.

Teddy weighed his options carefully putting his hands out checking to see which one of the beers he was double fisting was emptier. â€œI think--I'd have to go with Sam Malone on that one,â€ he said. â€œI saw this one episode, where he went on something like thirty-seven dates, and I think he scored on all of them.â€

Not that he cared. Soon the joint would be history. None of them cared, that was kind of their motto, â€œI don't give a fuck.â€ They would say it often and always, making sure they accented the middle of fuck, drawing out the vowel, like Smoke Dog from that movie. They didn't care; they wanted you to know that with extreme animosity, yet soon they would soon be all laughing merrily like Santa Claus the night before Christmas.

â€œNo way--â€ Teddy was saying, â€œSociety's fucked up on the regular--rappers are like our superheroes--they have money, power, kids worship them, they have cool aliases--it's like an X-rated X-men set to music.â€

The group agreed, except Gordy who always had to be different.

â€œAll powerful men have had pseudonyms. Most normal people lead dual identities. Superheroes are just a metaphor. It's a historical fact, Hitler would send certain letters signing only Wolf,â€ Gordy said smugly.

â€œRappers are more like Assassins; in that they exist only in the negative,â€ Gordy stated.

The girls gave him weird looks.

â€œThey also both have three names,â€ he concluded.

â€œAll assassins have three name names: John Wilkes Booth, Lee Harvey Oswald, Mark David Chapman, and all rappers three names, they have their real name, their rap name, and their alter-ego.â€

Chris looked away in disgust; he never appreciated Gordy's thinking.

The time was nearing four and all of them wanted to be up fairly early so as not to waste another day sleeping. Chris looked like a wide-eyed scientist carefully examining his new discovery. It was in fact not the first one he had rolled tonight.

Chris threw an elbow into Teddy's wrist. â€œNot so fast, you just can't smoke it right away.â€

â€œWhat else am I going to do with itâ€ Teddy said laughing, â€œuse it to stir my beer?â€ Then he stopped, because he realized that he was laughing alone.

â€œNaw, man you got to give it time to dry,â€ Chris said in his most stoned-out voice trying to be like his older brother.

â€œYeah,â€ Stephanie seconded taking a seat next to Chris. She was clearly already wasted, but none of the boys there were going to argue about her doing more drugs. Teddy looked back over to Gordy for support but was given a look like, â€œYou're on your own, man.â€ Chris was the oldest around the fire, and due to his older brother's meticulous teachings had also had far more experience in the field than anyone else there.

â€œBesides,â€ Chris added, â€œit's not even 4:20 yet.â€

Teddy looked at his digital sports watch, which glowed fluorescent blue if you touched the two buttons on the side together. The time read 3:55.

Ann spoke up. â€œSo, what does that mean anyway?â€

â€œWhat do you mean, what does it mean?â€ Chris snorted. â€œIt's only like the international smoking time for potheads,â€ as he high-fived Teddy who, up till now, had been his campfire enemy.

â€œYea, but where does it come from?â€ she inquired innocently.

There was that moment of deafening silence that is except for the crackling of burning wood.

4:20. Where does it come from? Origin unknown?

Stephanie was the first to speak â€œI think it has something to do with police codes,â€ she said timidly. â€œLike, you know, 1-8-7 on an undercover cop, means like kill him. I think. Like 4-2-0 means, like smoke up.â€ Although it sounded ridiculous it put the fellow smokers at ease. â€œYeahâ€ everyone agreed it was obviously the police code for people or person in the progress of getting high. Call for backup.

Chris began to run his lighter along the edges of the joint drying it and making it crisper to smoke.

Teddy interrupted again, â€œI think I heard it was actually the # of chemicals that are in a joint.â€

â€œReally,â€ Stephanie said reacting disgusted.

â€œNo, not really,â€ Chris said on the defensive again, wanting both girls to smoke, â€œI think it has something to do with this group that use to hang out with â€œThe Deadâ€ at college, or something like that. After classes every day they would meet at 4:20 by some statue, then go smoke up. So that just became the code around nonsmokers that they were going to get high after school.â€ No one seemed to buy that one, and Chris began to get mad because, if it was one thing he knew about more than these other fucking vanilla babies it was dope.

Stephanie added in a ditsy way, â€œI think it was either Cheech or Chong's locker combination.â€

The group shared a laugh.

Gordy, who had been silent up till now, laughed even harder almost shooting beer out his nose. â€œThose are all moderately cool theories,â€ Gordy said smiling widely showing a cocky superiority to everyone else.

You should hear my story."

Warning: Philosophical Content-Explicit Ideas-May offend those easily offended. The legend of the Hassan El Sabbah is not as famous as his garden. Sabbah was an entrepreneur of sorts using the assassin as a tool to gain political influence throughout the Middle East. He would use young men by making them smoke hash then allowing them to enter his garden of earthly delights. The young men were told they had entered paradise and would be expelled if they did not carry out Sabbah's wishes, which were usually to kill someone of relative importance. This tale is not only a fictional look at Sabbah, but also a mind-altering look into America's drug culture and the idea of paradise. Told by a stoner, set over a thousand years ago with an Arabian Nights feel to it, the story centers around Emir Abdullah-Harazins (Sabbah) and his infamous garden. It is the story of only one of his Hashishiyyins (Assassins).

To me this sounds like your telling a story about your self, and im assuming your chris ... To me you sound like you think your the "leader" of the group and if I was teddy and that was my weed, and u slapped me away from it id beat the living shit out of you ... and there is alot of ideas on how 420 came about and if you think your idea is the right one because you think you know more about pot then your friends then it sounds like your abusing your power of "leadership" infact if this is really about you id punch you out just for thinking your above my man teddy! infact I can tell this happend to you just teh way you describe teddy ... Its a very wrong thing to do (abusing your power, teddy probably feels like a friend to you guys, but you all make him feel lesser) I hope you burn in hell